let ray have a boyfriend

Jumin couldn’t have asked a better person to play him a song. Zen’s fingers are gliding across the piano keys, a warm, melodic tune escaping the instrument. It’s beautiful, the way Zen makes the song flow. Beautiful.

Zen gives him a playful glare, stopping in the middle of a measure, much to Jumin’s chagrin.

“I’m multitalented,” he says, “jerk.”

“I must have underestimated you.”

Truthfully, he didn’t think Zen was this amazing at playing any instrument, but he’s quite skilled at the piano. He himself has never played a piano before.

He wonders how hard it is. Zen makes it look easy, but it must be difficult.

He’s staring at the music in front of Zen. He knows how to read music, but this looks... complicated. All those notes and symbols translate to this amazing tune—it’s almost like magic. Zen, naturally, is the magician.

Jumin has always been interested in magic.

“You should teach me how to play.”

Once again, Zen stops. He turns his head to face Jumin, eyes narrowing.

“I agreed to play you one song and one song only.”

“I’m just so entranced,” he explains. By the piano, surely, by the tune. By Zen.

“Playing the piano isn’t easy,” Zen says.

“I never said it was easy.” Jumin leans back in his seat, taking a sip of his wine. “I just said I wanted to learn.”

There’s an ugly clash of notes that rings through the air when Zen tries to pick up where he left off in the piece, but failing. He glares at Jumin with an accusing look, like he got into his head.

(He did.)

“Fine.”

Wow. Jumin didn’t have to negotiate or anything—Zen agrees with a nod of his head and a wave of his hand, gesturing Jumin to sit at the piano with him.

Ivory keys graze the pads of his fingers. Zen rests his hands on the back of Jumin’s own, guiding them to the right spot for a chord.

He suddenly feels his heart beating faster.

Zen puts a slight pressure on his fingers until the keys are pushed down, and an angelic chord plays that almost makes Jumin shiver. God, there’s something about the piano. About Zen.

When the music begins to fade away into the air, his eyes meet Zen’s.

He never noticed how... beautiful Zen’s eyes were before. Beautiful. They’re a warm shade of red, like fire, or the sun, or all the stars in the sky. His hair is smooth, silky, white as snow, and his lips... his lips are only inches away.

Jumin’s eyes dart to his lips. He wonders if it’s noticeable.

(It probably is, because—)

Zen softly clears his throat. It breaks the heavy silence in the air.

“... That was a C chord,” he says.

“Do you like the piano, Zen?”

“I think it’s beautiful.”

Jumin kisses him.

It’s a soft, yet sudden kiss—a light brush of lips when Jumin leans forward only slightly. His eyes close on their own, and he hums into the warm kiss.

Zen lets go of Jumin’s hands, and it’s cold at first—but then they move to his hair, and it’s so much warmer.

It’s a motionless kiss, just lips against lips and nothing more. When Zen pulls away, he instantly leans back in, and this is... it’s...

Melodic. He could write songs about kissing Zen. He could write them, sing them, play them on the piano, to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

When the kiss ends, he holds onto Zen and never lets go.